


Kiss

by borrowedeck



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, M/M, minor cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedeck/pseuds/borrowedeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will comes across Hannibal working in the woods.</p><p>Written for Hannibal kinkmeme prompt "Don't care who. Don't care why. Don't care how. Someone kiss the cannibal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss

Will’s hallucinations have gotten worse, but he still can’t stop himself from following the sounds of injured dogs, unwilling to take the chance that there might be one that he could have rescued. Tonight, it draws him away from his house and into the woods, tripping through the dark underbrush with a flashlight, a first-aid kit and a pocket full of treats. The woods are dark and cold, and he’s blazing his own trail, trying to get to where he thinks the sound is coming from. He draws his scarf tighter around his neck against the chill. Jack will have his head if he gets sick from chasing imaginary dogs around in the night.

Will’s mind is preoccupied—he doesn’t really expect to find a dog out here anyway—so when he sees the stag, just like the one from his dreams (nightmares?), his fight-or-flight response kicks in, and he throws himself sideways through a thick hedge of underbrush. He rolls into the clearing short of breath, heart racing and flashlight beam jerking wildly about.

And that’s when he sees it.

Will had known, somehow, subconsciously, that the Chesapeake Ripper had to be Hannibal. It fit too beautifully, the precise surgical skill, the artistry of the scenes of mutilation, the connection the Ripper’s murders seemed to have to Will, Hannibal stringing him along and waiting for him to figure it out, feeding him clues. He must have realized what was going on a long time ago, or he wouldn’t be taking this scene nearly as easily. Or maybe the lack of screaming and running had more to do with being frozen in shock.

Hannibal is kneeling over the still twitching body of a young man, arms and legs spread out, strung to nearby trees with piano wire, bare wrists and ankles bleeding sluggishly as the metal cuts into them, the body’s slight struggles only worsening the damage. The young man probably wouldn’t notice that though, even if he were still alive, as Hannibal’s scalpel has cut open his torso, and Hannibal is in the process of breaking his ribs to get at the heart.

“Ah, Will,” Hannibal says, as Will hears the sickening crack of a rib, and please, God, let that not have been a whimper from the body. “I’m sorry you had to see this.” The doctor’s manner is as calm and collected as it always is, his face blandly composed. Will notes, through his shock, that Hannibal’s coat is folded neatly at the edge of the clearing, as is his blazer. His sleeves are rolled up, and somehow none of the blood dotting the scene has made it onto his immaculate clothing. Other than the blood coating his hands as he reaches into the man’s chest and carves out his heart, he looks completely normal.

Will is sitting where he fell, unable to find the wherewithal to get out of there, to stop this, to even figure out what this means—is Hannibal going to kill him too now? Was that always part of the plan? Will’s fast-moving mind even now is wondering cynically why Hannibal would have chosen the woods near his house if he wasn’t at least courting the idea of being caught. 

He stops this train of thought abruptly as Hannibal rises from the body, heart in hand, and starts to walk towards him. Will stops thinking anything at all and crawls backward desperately, finally trying to get away, but he’s not looking where he’s going, and he finds himself backed into a tree, Hannibal kneeling before him.

“You find yourself alarmed at my actions,” Hannibal comments, as if this were one of their therapy conversations. “And yet you have seen far worse, done far worse in your imaginings.”

“How can you even pretend to compare that, Dr. Lecter?” Will manages to force out. “You just killed a man, you—” He stutters to a halt, staring.

Hannibal is smiling slightly as he lifts the still warm heart to his mouth, and licks a long stripe of blood off it, the dark red liquid pooling on his tongue, some dripping down his chin in a viscous trail, marring his civilized façade. He leans in towards Will and covers Will’s mouth with his own, forcing his bloody tongue through Will’s lips.

It should be easy to jerk back, to push him away, but the sudden salty taste instead causes Will to open his mouth further in surprise, letting Hannibal in. Maybe it’s because of the surprise, or how much he'd come to trust him, or how messed up his mind has become since he started working for Jack, or maybe it’s like what he told Bev earlier about bonding with one’s captor for survival—whatever the reason Will finds himself kissing back. Deeply, desperately, the metallic taste of blood mingling with Hannibal’s saliva filling his mouth as it smears his lips and chin. Hannibal bites down hard on Will’s lip before he pulls away, so Will’s no longer sure if what he’s tasting is his, or if it belongs to the young man whose body has by now finally stopped twitching.

“You are right, these things are not comparable. But I think maybe you are starting to see things differently, no?” Hannibal says, sitting back on his heels, eyes bright and lips a mess of red. “So, my good Will, where do you think we should go from here?”


End file.
